


Forever, If That's What It Takes

by Solrosfalt



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: #Byleth is also there, Ambiguous Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Battle After-Care, Breif Mentions of Dangerous Swimming, Bridal Carrying, Established relationship (kind of), F/F, Mentions of canon-typical violence, Nagamas 2019, Non-Binary Byleth, Post-Time Skip, Reckless Life-Saving, Wedding Proposal, apart from the brief scary-swimming part it's pretty much just gay fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21960163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solrosfalt/pseuds/Solrosfalt
Summary: There’s a war going on, but Catherine has different priorities. She fights Fódlan’s biggest river instead.
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand
Comments: 9
Kudos: 75





	Forever, If That's What It Takes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



The great bridge of Myrddin provided no shelter for a sniper. As ancient as it was efficient, the bridge was industrially made with nothing but a flat stretch of polished rocks between the two riverbanks. 

Two fortresses on each side of the river connected the entrances to the bridge, and they were just as straightforward and efficient.

It was a little weird how _ancient_ things in Fódlan also meant _big_ things, but maybe the people back then just needed more room to do things. Catherine didn’t question it, anyway. The bridge’s design was perfect for the Crest Army’s many soldiers and mages on horseback, but equally perfect for the Empire’s ditto.

Which, as it happened, meant that a foot soldier risked being overrun. Catherine was a foot soldier, but that didn’t bother her – _Shamir_ , however, was another thing entirely. She was an assassin through and through. She swept the battlefields from the shadows of the sidelines, quick and reliable and very, very deadly. And quite incredible, in Catherine’s opinion. She looked fearsome when she was in her element. Fearsome and awe-inspiring.

But without shadows, without trees, without pillars and corners, an assassin’s many skills were useless. And Catherine didn’t _worry_ , really, but what was the harm of grabbing the Commanding Professor’s arm in the dining hall and ask them to think it through before they journeyed to Myrddin? 

Professor Byleth had shrugged their shoulders, and in their usual soft-spoken manner told Shamir it was best if she stayed behind to guard the monastery.

“Out of the question”, Shamir had answered, her voice hard and calm, her eyes darting to Catherine. “My partner will be out in the field. It is only appropriate that I am, too.”

“I cannot deny that we need your strength”, Byleth said with their head tilted. “But losing you would be—”

“—an occupational hazard part of my contract”, Shamir interrupted them, her face unmoving and her gaze still on Catherine. “I have prevailed over mounted armies before.”

Her words put an image in Catherine’s mind; Shamir, alone in an open field and completely surrounded by war-horses and their knights who towered over her in every direction, and—

“Woah there”, Catherine frowned and put her hands in front of her, trying to make time stop for a second. “I want to win as much as the next gal, but there has to be something we can do!”

\---

The plan ( _Catherine’s_ plan, to be more precise) had been to put Shamir on a wyvern and have her hide in the clouds. She figured if the battlefield wasn’t optimized already, one had to go through it with other means – and in the end, Catherine was kind of proud of her accomplishment.

Unfortunately, that plan had a few flaws.

For one, neither Shamir nor Catherine knew the art of controlling sky beasts very well, so despite Ingrid’s thorough crash course, there might have been a few details missing when Shamir wobbled into the air.

For another, the day of the battle was one with clear skies and sunlight. Shamir’s position was exposed within minutes, and the sun on the river blinded her so her arrows missed their marks.

And lastly, and most devastatingly, the enemy had a ballista.

Every time Catherine took to the field, her focus shrunk to nothing while her senses expanded. Thunderbrand was alive in her hands, crackling with the crest beneath her skin, ready to fight for the name of the Church. _Before_ Shamir, there that had been all that existed. _After_ Shamir, things were… different. Catherine’s focus wasn’t solely with herself and her enemy – there was a third piece in motion that was just as important.

Shamir and Catherine had once or twice talked about how their partnership had changed their fighting style. Having someone around even in the most chaotic settings was one great aspect of it; it gave them the opportunity to cooperate and expand and keep each other safe.

Another very palpable aspect was the fact they did, in fact, care for one another quite deeply. Which complicated things. They cooked together, fished together, clung to one another in their sleep and kissed until they were breathless. Going into battle was no different – except for the constant mortal peril.

Shamir had said her feelings didn’t matter. If death closed in on them, she’d choose to save her own life before Catherine’s, because those were the stakes they could face. Shamir wanted to be ready for it.

Very reasonable. Catherine, on the other hand, couldn’t even speak of what her choice would be. Although it was a terrible thought to face… the truth was that Catherine would opt to lose her breath if it meant Shamir could keep hers.

Thus, on this sunny day on the Bridge of Myrddin, when Catherine heard the thrum of the ballistae, she ignored any blades swinging her way and turned her head to the skies.

Her finely honed instincts told her it was a _perfect shot_ just by the sound of it. The hum moved through the air and left no way of escape.

Catherine’s heart twisted into a cold knot. She could do nothing but watch as the projectile slammed into a blue wyvern so hard it spun in the air and sagged as its rider plummeted into the river.

Catherine didn’t hesitate. She tore her pauldrons off, hurled her breastplate over her head, threw off her boots and heaved herself over the fenestrations of the stone bridge.

There were lots of things Catherine could have thought of as she dove the steep length down to the water.

One; that she didn’t actually swim that well.

Two; that the impact of the water might kill her just as well as sturdy ground would.

Three; that she had no idea how deep the river was.

Four; that she’d just abandoned a battlefield, a war for justice and the valor of the church; _everything_ she believed in.

And yet, her only thought was to follow the shape of her partner as she hit the water. Catherine tracked the streams and searched the ripples for any trace of a green jacket.

Some folks made fun of Catherine’s lack of interest in academia and counting things in general, but she knew bloody well how things _worked_ without putting fancy words to them. She knew how nature worked. Most importantly, she knew how _rivers_ worked and how bad her odds were. Even so, she wasn’t afraid of fighting. Not anyone, nor any _thing_. Not if it meant a chance to get Shamir back home safely.

The water swallowed her. She was alone, surrounded by darkness. Water pulled at her from all directions with the strength of a hurricane.

Of course the river would instantly try to kill her.

Catherine kept her eyes wide open, her chest burning with anger as she spread her arms to try and slow things down. She wasn’t afraid. She was getting out of here and she was taking Shamir with her; that was _non-negotiable_.

Thunderbrand was still in her belt, its glow illuminating the storm of blackness around her, showing her which way was _up_.

She could do this. She inwardly cursed the river to the eternal flames as she kicked toward the surface, and drew breath.

Maybe it was simple fury that gave her the strength to swim toward a spinning, broken bow. Maybe it was spite that allowed her to once again break the surface and pull the full weight of another human up with her. Maybe it was all her curses and spits that carried Shamir toward the riverbank. Though most likely, the only thing that fueled her was the all-consuming, cold dread of being too late.

Pebbles rolled beneath Catherine’s feet. She nearly fell face-first into the water, but she clenched her jaw and kicked for a better grip.

Another step. The heaviness of the water released her shoulders, then her hips, then her ankles.

She was on land. She’d won.

Her hands found their way underneath Shamir’s arms, dragged her up into her lap. Her hair rained river water on Shamir’s neck.

“Hey!!” Catherine knew Shamir wasn’t fond of whenever there were loud sounds around her, and hoped she’d stir if Catherine made as much noise as possible. “Hey, Shamir! Are you breathing?!”

If only she’d known how to heal, if only she’d picked up one of those never-ending books on faith, she could’ve been— 

A small sound alerted her, and she could once again focus. She bent down closer to the head that rested on her lap; Shamir seemed to try to speak – a good sign, right?

Shamir frowned and clenched a fist before she put it over her belly. She let out another sound, and opened her eyes.

Dagdan amethyst met Catherine’s gaze; a dusty violet that belonged only to her partner. Eyes that could be endlessly cold, and yet so full of hidden joy whenever she got amused by her own strange jokes.

Right then, they were neither cold nor joyful. They reflected quiet, deep thought. No doubt her shrewd mind wrapped itself around the situation.

“Are you all right?” Catherine had no more patience to wait, and no restraint to keep her from shouting right by Shamir’s face.

Shamir grimaced. “No”, she mumbled. “I landed terribly… I think I have broken at least a few bones. And worse… you’re being loud…”

Catherine exhaled in a sigh, all tenseness leaving her body. She rested her forehead against Shamir’s for a few shaky breaths.

“Thank the Goddess”, she whispered. “You’re alive… I could’ve sworn… Damn it, I should’ve never put you on a bloody wyvern, I’m sorry—”

 _There’s a reason you aren’t our tactician_ , someone else might’ve said to interrupt her, but not Shamir. Instead, she put her hand against Catherine’s head, with all the words and emotions she didn’t voice.

_Shame._

_Relief._

_Gratitude._

“I thought you said you wouldn’t give your life for mine”, Shamir mumbled, her breath cold against Catherine’s soaked skin.

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth”, Catherine answered with a tense exhale. “ _I_ never said that. I tried because _you_ said so, but it’s against the Goddess to lie.”

“And you’re quite the believer.” She could hear the smile in Shamir’s voice, felt the tug of her hand on her hair. “All the more reason for you not to throw yourself off a bridge, partner. We have… a battle to fight. Where’s…” Her hand fell from Catherine’s head, scrambled around the riverbank in search of her bow. Of course.

“It’s gone”, Catherine said and straightened. “Don’t worry; I’ll get you a new one.”

Shamir closed her eyes and frowned. She didn’t say anything to that, but at least she stopped moving around, which was a plus. Blindly waving one’s arms around couldn’t be good for broken bones, or so Catherine reckoned.

Now they only had to get back to base without incident. With a glance to the west, Catherine determined there weren’t any enemy fliers threatening to find them (if they did, well, she still had Thunderbrand and wouldn’t hesitate to use it), and Ingrid was still up and about. Ingrid had even reached the other side of the bridge by the looks of things. A flash of red and bone-colored gold moved through the sky like liquid lightning as the professor unleashed their relic, swiping down at least four enemy fliers in one strike.

Yeah, they were winning this battle, all right. That eliminated one problem.

The remaining one was a bit more troubling – Catherine and Shamir had dropped down from the height of two cathedral towers, and Shamir was not in the shape to climb slippery cliff walls. There seemed to be a decent pathway back toward the fortress (probably for sheepherders to let their sheep down to drink); but that pathway was a full hike and in the complete opposite direction of Garreg Mach.

Better than nothing, Catherine supposed. She turned her gaze down on Shamir again, who hadn’t opened her eyes – but she was breathing, and her face had regained some color.

“We’ve got to walk for a bit”, Catherine explained to her. “Can you manage that?”

“Better than flying”, Shamir answered, her voice flat.

Catherine grimaced. She’d never get to live this one down.

With a hand wiggled in behind Shamir’s shoulders and another around her uninjured wrist, Catherine got Shamir up to standing.

Their first few steps went fine. Then came a slope, and the limping started. About halfway up, Shamir wheezed like she’d ran halfway across Fódlan, and Catherine realized this wasn’t going to work. She stopped, and since Shamir leaned on her, she had to stop too.

“Give me your legs”, Catherine prompted, and Shamir was too tired to protest.

With a huff, Catherine lifted her up into her arms. Shamir gasped at some pain or other, but afterwards, she breathed easier. Her hand rested on her belly, her head bent against Catherine’s neck.

Catherine wasn’t fool enough to think this would be a cakewalk; it would get immensely exhausting and she knew it. But she did have carefully trained muscles and she might as well put those to use. She didn’t exactly have a choice.

She kept walking, one simple goal in mind.

For the first hour, everything went fine.

During the second hour, Catherine wouldn’t have minded if they switched place. Her legs shook and her arms felt like they would fall off.

But she didn’t stop to rest. This was just like a hard day’s training, anyway. What did it matter if she got a bit sore tomorrow? Shamir needed to get to the infirmary as soon as possible, and that too was non-negotiable.

“You doing all right, there?” Catherine panted, trying to get her mind off her aching back.

“I am.” Shamir’s eyelashes tickled her collarbone as she blinked. “You are… very good at this. I’d let you carry me like this to our wedding.”

Her deadpan voice revealed nothing, but if Catherine would have seen her face, Shamir surely would’ve grinned.

“Is this really the time for your wedding-jokes?”

Shamir moved her head so it thudded against the side of Catherine’s throat in an expression of annoyance.

“They’re not jokes.”

Catherine’s legs kept going without her being aware. Her eyes gazed out into the thicket and trees of empty Gloucester land, gloomy branches reaching for a bare sky.

Of all places, Shamir would say something like this _here_.

“Oh”, Catherine said. “Okay.”

Shamir didn’t say anything else.

Catherine swallowed and watched the trees. She couldn’t keep track of the amount of teasing comments Shamir had thrown at her these last few years – the smallest things could make her add to the growing list of their wedding plans. At first, Catherine had blanked out completely and just stared at her; these days she usually chuckled and patted Shamir’s shoulder.

 _They’re not jokes_.

Oh, Goddess.

Catherine realized her silence was pretty damnable, and tried to pull herself out of her awkward stupor. If she didn’t speak, Shamir would think she didn’t _want_ her comments to be serious, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Okay, so hold on—how come you get to decide everything for our wedding, then?” Catherine blurted, and continued with a deep frown; “Let’s see, so far you’ve said you wanted withered flowers lining the aisle, absolutely no lutes, the vows are to be half in Dagdan, every sweet has to be coffee-flavored, and it is vital that I wear my armor inside-out—”

“The last one _was_ an actual joke”, Shamir hurried to interrupt her. “The others are correct.”

Catherine grinned. “But I _can_ wear my armor, right?”

“You do look hot in it”, Shamir admitted with her voice still deadpan and even, as if she’d just stated the color of the sky.

Catherine chuckled and adjusted her hold on Shamir and turned her gaze forward again. Her head fell down against Shamir’s for a moment, her cheek touching her hair. It was nearly dry, and frizzled in every direction.

Shamir was an expert on making her silky smooth (and tauntingly attractive) hairstyle seem like an effortless constant part of her, but it was clearly not so. Right now it was a mess, but it was no less charming.

“I’m okay with all your suggestions”, Catherine said. “I only have one demand.”

Shamir leaned her head back and looked at her with narrow eyes. “I’ll hear it.”

“I want to cut the cake with Thunderbrand.”

“Deal.” Shamir’s answer was immediate. “Just clean it first.”

“Aye-aye, partner.”

Catherine wiggled her eyebrows at her, knowing Shamir hated when she did that. She grinned wider when Shamir rolled her eyes.

Her arms felt lighter. Yeah, she could keep this up for a while longer.

Forever, if that’s what it took.

\---

There was an evening feast when they arrived at the monastery. In celebration of their victory, even the gatekeepers were relieved of their duty and mingled among the knights and former students.

It seemed as though no-one had missed either Catherine or Shamir, which was just how things went in a war, but it was still annoying.

Then again, Professor Byleth could be the reason for the trouble-free environment. When Catherine and Shamir staggered past the open doors to the dining hall, Byleth merely twirled their fork with a pleased smile.

“You took your time”, they said, then nodded inside. “I brought back your armor plates, Catherine. And I saved some portions for the two you.”

They acted like they’d known all along both of them were alive, which was a recurring theme. Once the Crest Army had fought beasts and Leonie hadn't been found afterwards. Everyone assumed the worst but the Professor had calmly reassured everyone she was fine even though she was alone in a forest full of beasts. Surprisingly, Byleth had been right and Leonie turned up alive and well – although a bit bruised – and the Professor had merely patted her arm and said the exact same thing. ‘ _You took your time’_.

It was a bit odd to have someone around who threaded the border of All-Knowing and who also had a pretty strange sense of humor, but at this point Catherine was used to it.

“Thanks”, Catherine panted at Byleth and nodded toward the infirmary. “Just got to swing past Manuela’s.”

Shamir stirred, and turned her head to look Byleth in the eye.

“Professor”, she said. “Catherine promised to give me the two-toned whetstone if I survived all the way to the monastery. I want you to be a witness. In case she plans on not owning up.”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “A ‘ _thanks for carrying me for five hours’_ wouldn’t hurt either, you know.”

Shamir put a hand against the center of her chest, very gently. A gesture that needed no words.

She didn’t say anything for the rest of the evening, apart from exchanging the necessary story with Manuela when they reached the infirmary.

Maybe she was ashamed for seeming ungrateful. Maybe she was exhausted. Maybe she was just Shamir.

No matter the reason, her silence was not kind to Catherine’s heart. Was she dying? Would she never speak again?

Catherine hovered skittishly around Shamir’s bed until Manuela got tired of it and handed her a bandage and told her to help.

Catherine wrapped and re-wrapped and re-wrapped again, trying so hard to get it right. In the time it took her to get one bandage on, Manuela was done with the rest.

The physician had poked and prodded and sighed, but Shamir’s eye had remained only on Catherine throughout the procedure. Her silence continued, but seeing her safe and awake and clean had Catherine less worried.

She was just being her usual stoic self. Catherine was very familiar with that.

Not until the two of them were alone in the sauna, with warm steam easing their tenseness and ruining their bandages, did Shamir speak again.

Catherine was half-asleep on her shoulder (it was her turn to use Shamir as a pillow, she’d argued, and Shamir hadn’t objected). Her hand rested on Shamir’s lap, her back leaned against the wall.

She breathed deeply through her mouth. She’d probably start snoring if she fell asleep, but that couldn’t be helped. She was exhausted and she’d earned this nap a thousand times over.

Shamir wasn’t fooled to believe Catherine was really asleep – her partner knew breathing patterns frighteningly well. So when she mumbled into Catherine’s hairline, she must have known Catherine would hear her.

“Whuzzat?” Catherine mumbled back without opening her eyes.

She felt the tug of Shamir’s cheeks on her head – she _smiled_. Goddess, what if this was another wedding suggestion—

“Thank you.”

Shamir’s lips had barely moved against Catherine’s scalp, her tone not more than a whisper. But Catherine had heard her, all right. The words resonated, hovered in the air around both of them.

Catherine drew a sharp inhale and breathed out in a small sigh. Shamir’s hand had found hers; warm, callused hands Catherine would never get enough of enclosed her fingers. The motion tugged at her, unspoken, but the message was just as clear as her words.

 _Thank you._

“Anytime, partner”, Catherine grinned as her mind drifted off to safe, calm sleep. “…Anytime.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is gifted to @fefemslashofficial as a Nagamas 2019 gift, the prompt being "Battle After-Care"! I immediately thought of Catherine/Shamir as the perfect fit for this particular prompt, gosh I really love them. I was excited to write some Catherine/Shamir and happy I got the chance.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


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